


Untamed

by Barrhorn



Series: Meme Reposts [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Mostly Pwp, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, shifter pharah, the epilogue is a left turn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7439524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s easier to ignore her blood when she’s away from the desert. London and Hollywood are too urban, too human. Russia’s too cold, Ilios too wet. In those places she can be Fareeha Amari, Overwatch agent, and nothing more. But here in Egypt, she is the jackal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She slips out of the watch point right around dusk, when everyone else is occupied. She trots through the sand, warm on her bare feet, away from the smell of Hana’s noodles, away from the bright lights, away from Reinhardt’s loud laughter.

Fareeha walks into the desert and breathes deeply. Giza. Home. It calls to her, and she yearns to answer. But she can’t, not with the members of Overwatch so near. Not when they might look around at any moment and wonder where she’s gone.

It’s easier to ignore her blood when she’s away from the desert. London and Hollywood are too urban, too human. Russia’s too cold, Ilios too wet. In those places she can be Fareeha Amari, Overwatch agent, and nothing more. But here in Egypt, she is the jackal. It’s been so long since she shifted, since she felt the wind in her fur as she flew across the sand on all fours. She glances back at the watch point. Maybe she can tonight. If in the morning anyone questions her absence, she can claim to have snuck out to visit old friends.

Her eyes catch a shadow in front of the lit door, and her sensitive hearing picks up sand crunching underfoot. She’s downwind of the shadow, and she growls softly when she catches the scent of disinfectant and coffee mixed with one particular person’s unique smell.

Angela.

Fareeha doesn’t move, doesn’t hail her. A normal human wouldn’t have noticed her yet, after all. Maybe she can continue the fiction that she too is a regular member of _homo sapiens_ , but if anyone poses a threat to that charade, it’s Angela.

She hears the footsteps slow right as Angela pulls within comfortable conversation range, hears the deep breath that Angela takes to steady herself. “Fareeha?”  
Fareeha half turns toward her. “Hey.” It’s all she can really trust herself to say right now.  
But Angela frowns, tipping her head to one side as she examines Fareeha. The dying light falls across her pale neck and Fareeha has to look away.

_When she was a child, her mother had bought a lamb, loading it and Fareeha into the back of a truck. They’d driven out into the sands at night and her mother had released it. Bleating in terror, it had fled as Fareeha shifted and given chase. When her jaws had closed around its throat and silenced it forever, her mother had danced up to her, ears perked, licking the blood from her muzzle.  
“My girl,” she’d said proudly. “My little huntress.”_

The brush of fingertips across her cheek brings her out of the memory, Angela’s concerned eyes searching Fareeha’s. “Where did you go?” she asks. “You’ve been acting strange ever since we arrived in Giza. Do you want to talk about it?”

If it was anyone else, Fareeha thinks, she’d be able to control herself. She wouldn’t know what they smelled like in the middle of sex, wouldn’t know how her name sounded when they panted it. But Angela tests her self-control at the best of times, and when she’s craving the physical release of transformation, it stands to reason that another sort of release might do just as well.

_If it was anyone else,_ her human side thinks, _they wouldn’t have come out here in the first place._

She can’t do this to Angela; she loves this woman desperately. She is not a lamb to be devoured!

Fareeha turns to Angela, closing the distance between them. Tangling her fingers in her ponytail, she pulls her head back. She can hear Angela’s gasp of surprise, then the soft whimper of pain - she’s being too rough, feeling a few hairs come free in her grasp - but their mouths are pressed together, her tongue pushing past Angela’s lips, exploring her mouth. She can hear Angela’s heart speed up, hear her settle into the kiss with a pleased murmur, feel the heat starting to radiate from her skin.

Fareeha breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against Angela’s as her hand gently grasps the back of her neck. Then she gives her a small shake, even gentler than she would a misbehaving puppy. “Go home,” she tells her, voice harsh and trembling with all the things she’d rather be saying. “The desert’s not safe at night.”

But when she turns to leave, Angela grabs her wrist. Fareeha feels her lip curl into a snarl - _stubborn woman!_ \- and has to fight herself back into a more neutral expression.  
“Not without you.” Her voice is clear and steady, but Fareeha can still sense that heat, that excitement, and her fingernails dig into her palms as she resists what all her instincts are screaming for her to do.  
“Angela, let me be clear. You should go back to the watch point right now. If you stay with me much longer, I will not be able to control myself. And I will fuck you until daylight.” Her teeth rake her lip on the obscenity, the word coming out as rough and needy as she feels.  
Angela’s eyes widen, her breaths going fast and shallow, and that is not what Fareeha needs right now. Every hint of Angela’s arousal just feeds her own. With an apparent ease that makes Fareeha jealous, Angela takes a deep breath and then smiles at her lover. Fareeha can hear a chuckle start in Angela’s throat. “That doesn’t sound so-“  
Before she can finish, Fareeha grabs her by the upper arm and pulls her forward, making the doctor stumble into her. Releasing her grip, Fareeha wraps one arm around Angela to keep her upright and pull her in closer. The other hand slides down to cup Angela’s ass, giving it a squeeze. “I want you,” she growls into Angela’s ear, lips and teeth toying with her earlobe, drinking in Angela’s quiet whine. “I need you. I will not be nice about it.”  
Angela’s blood thunders audibly through the pulse point on her neck, her hands fisting in Fareeha’s shirt. Heat rolls off of her. And then she looks up. Growing still, she cautiously raises a hand to cup Fareeha’s face, thumb tracing a path across her cheek. “Your eyes are gold,” she whispers.  
 _Shit._ Fareeha releases her instantly, turning away and raking a hand through her hair. She’s grasping for something to say, how to explain, when she catches a too-familiar sour smell: fear.

She turns on her heel to face Angela, the doctor’s blue eyes intent on hers, her jaw set obstinately. “What is going on?”  
They stand in silence for a moment longer. Angela lifts her chin, a sight Fareeha knows well. Once the good doctor has her mind set on something, she’s as relentless as a terrier.

_She’s not afraid of me,_ Fareeha suddenly realizes as Angela still refuses to look away. _She’s afraid of what I’m not telling her._

That makes up her mind. “Come with me,” she says gruffly, then turns and starts walking.  
“Where are we going?”  
“To the house of my father.”  
Fareeha knows she’s not supposed to hear the sudden scuff of Angela’s foot through the sand or her squeaked, “What?”, but she does anyway.

Perhaps the shock of that plain statement is what keeps Angela quiet until they’re walking up the stone steps, but then the woman seems to regain the sense of their surroundings. “…This is the temple,” she says, uncertainty coloring her voice.  
“Yes,” Fareeha answers, unnecessarily perhaps, but she wants to reassure Angela. She leads her over to a section of wall by a statue of the god, reaching into its alcove and manipulating the carved stone in a way that’s ingrained in her muscle memory. When a section of the wall grinds out of the way, revealing a doorway, she grabs Angela’s hand and pulls her inside. Before the door closes behind them, she lights a lantern that waits at her feet, illuminating the chamber. It’s made of the same stone as the temple, a bed tucked in one corner, a dresser in another. Set into one wall is a simple faucet, a drain and a bucket underneath it and a larger wooden tub nearby. Fareeha has never wanted to contemplate the pain that retrofit must have been.

And, dominating the room, the large AMARI carved into the wall opposite the entrance.

“Another piece of my mother’s legacy,” she murmurs, and feels Angela weave her fingers through hers. She turns. “You know my family is largely military.”  
Angela nods, eyes holding Fareeha’s steadily.  
“We’re jackals. Children of the god. Warriors; those who guide the dead. Those who bring the dead to judgment.” She smiles, showing most of her teeth as Angela’s eyes widen. Her quick mind is one of the reasons Fareeha’s so drawn to her.  
“I could never bring myself to ask her where she disappeared to,” Angela says quietly.  
“She never apologized for anything,” Fareeha says in agreement, an old bitterness cutting through the words anyway.

Angela pulls on their joined hands, bringing Fareeha a step closer before leaning up to kiss her. It’s slow and lingering, and Fareeha holds herself rock still throughout it, fighting the urge out of long habit.  
“Your eyes are turning gold again,” Angela tells her when she pulls back.  
“I warned you,” Fareeha says, hearing Angela’s heart start to race in response to her words. “And you followed me anyway.”  
“Always,” Angela whispers, and the word snaps the last of Fareeha’s self-control.

She surges forward, hands tight on Angela’s hips, thrusting a leg between Angela’s thighs. She buries her face in Angela’s neck, trailing kisses across the skin, biting when she reaches her shoulder and reveling in her gasp. This close, her skin smells only of Angela: like mountains and wildflowers. It drives her crazy, because everything about Angela drives her crazy. Like now, when she pulls back to speak and Angela is looking up at her through her lashes; deliberately, _deliberately_ , acting coy, inviting Fareeha to be aggressive. Only a madwoman would do such a thing after learning her lover is a predator.

A madwoman, or someone who trusts her that much.

She wants to laugh, but it comes out as a growl. “If you like these clothes, they’d better come off now.”  
Gratifyingly, Angela hurries to obey, peeling off her tank top and tossing it to the side. When she reaches behind her back to undo the clasp of her bra, Fareeha takes advantage and hooks her fingers into Angela’s shorts, pulling them down her legs. It’s a mistake to hurry so, one she only realizes when she kneels to pull them off completely and finds herself level with Angela’s underwear, the smell of her arousal rolling over her in a wave. Her hands forget the fabric they’re holding, moving up to grip Angela’s thighs, pushing them farther apart as Fareeha leans forward, mouthing Angela through damp fabric.  
It’s not the low moan that draws her attention, not the line of Angela’s neck as she throws her head back, not the tremor in the leg by her cheek. It’s Angela’s hands grasping her shoulders, digging in almost painfully, that makes Fareeha smile, drives her to huff a hot breath against Angela as the woman cries out, a shiver running through her. Fareeha looks up and meets blue eyes.  
“Fareeha, I can’t,” Angela says shakily. “I’ll fall.”  
Unrepentant, Fareeha breathes against her again, smile growing as Angela’s hips jerk forward despite her complaints. But she rises, hands sliding to the back of Angela’s thighs and lifting her easily, letting her kick off the shorts and her sandals before wrapping her legs around Fareeha’s waist. “I wouldn’t let you,” she says before capturing Angela’s lips. She walks them over to the bed like that anyway, knowing it will be more comfortable for Angela than being pressed against the stone wall.

And it’s going to be a long night if she gets her way.

Kneeling on the bed, she puts Angela down on her back, the legs still wrapped firmly around her waist drawing her down after the doctor. No longer needing to hold on, Angela’s hands slide down to her chest, cupping her breasts. She groans and a new wave of heat rolls off of her at what she finds.  
“Really, Fareeha?” she says, voice torn between amusement and lust.  
Fareeha just grins at her, leaning down to kiss her again. Unwilling to part to take her shirt off, she nips at Angela’s lip as she tears the thin cotton of her shirt apart, swallowing the sound Angela makes as her hands find skin and she realizes what Fareeha’s done. And why not? She’d walked into the desert dressed for transformation; clothes would only get discarded or destroyed, so she hadn’t bothered with underwear or a bra, wearing cheap clothes that she didn’t care about.

She rolls her hips into Angela’s, watching how she reacts, smelling the sweat that’s starting to sheen on her skin. “I love watching you,” she says, drawing her nails down Angela’s sides as the woman presses up into the touch with a gasp. “I love hearing you,” she continues, fingers reaching Angela’s underwear and ripping it apart and off as easily as she had her shirt. She runs a thumb through Angela’s slick heat, the woman’s heels tightening against her back as she whimpers, a breathy, urgent sound that makes Fareeha’s pulse race. She chuckles, tracing slow circles around Angela’s clit but never actually touching it despite the way her hips buck, trying to force Fareeha’s fingers where she wants them. “And I love-“  
“Fareeha, _please_.”  
“-The way you feel underneath me.”

Groaning in frustration, Angela reaches down - whether to touch herself or try and guide Fareeha’s hand the soldier doesn’t know, but she grabs Angela’s wrist, pinning it effortlessly against the bed over Angela’s head. “None of that,” she warns, a deep rumble in her voice. “You’re _mine_ , and I will take care of you.” She ducks her head, scraping teeth along Angela’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat before turning her attention to her neck. She sucks on the skin there, wanting it to bruise, wanting to mark Angela. She pulls back to admire her handiwork and meets Angela’s gaze, her pupils dilated, her lips swollen, strands of her hair that have escaped her ponytail fallen across her face. “Beautiful,” Fareeha says. “Mine.” Hers not just for the night, but for all the nights to come. The words are softer but no less intense, and Angela shivers as they roll over her.

Satisfied that Angela understands, Fareeha finally releases her wrist, fingers trailing over the red marks her nails have left on Angela’s skin before finally slipping back between her legs. She only waits for Angela’s hips to lift before thrusting two fingers deep into her, rolling her hips forward for extra emphasis. Angela breathes in so fast it sounds almost like a sob, her hands twisting in the bedsheets, and Fareeha soothes her with a kiss, taking one of Angela’s hands into her own while her fingers plunge into Angela’s heat again and again. She curls her fingers in the way she know Angela likes, taking a fierce pride in the way Angela’s mouth falls open in a cry, in the way her muscles strain to meet Fareeha’s every movement. When she feels Angela trembling beneath her, she flicks her thumb up and over Angela’s clit, eliciting another gasp.  
“Fareeha-“

But she’s not interested in teasing this time. She rolls her thumb over Angela’s clit in time with her thrusts, and it’s not long before Angela’s walls tighten around her fingers, her back arching up off the bed as she calls Fareeha’s name. She’s barely touched back into the sheets before Fareeha slides down the bed, settling herself on her stomach between Angela’s legs.  
“ _Herrgott,_ ” Angela moans when she feels Fareeha’s breath against her thigh.  
With a laugh, Fareeha wraps her arm around Angela’s thigh and hip, her hand flat on Angela’s lower stomach to keep her from moving. She curls the fingers still inside Angela slowly, gently, conscious of how sensitive she still must be. It doesn’t stop her from running her tongue through Angela’s folds, avoiding her clit, pausing to pepper her thighs with kisses until her panting evens out and her soft sounds of almost distressed arousal become louder and more certain. Then Fareeha picks up the pace again, fingers finding that rhythm, the tip of her tongue teasing across Angela’s clit before she draws it into her mouth. And Angela goes shooting back up almost immediately, thighs clenched over Fareeha’s shoulders, hands scrambling for purchase in the sheets.

She collapses with a whimper, throwing a forearm over her eyes, other hand reaching for Fareeha. The soldier considers staying right where she is, but when she shifts and the brush of her hair over Angela’s skin is enough to make her gasp and curse, Fareeha climbs back up the bed to take Angela in her arms. Her own arousal pulls at her, heat pooling in her stomach, but caring for her partner comes first. “Ya amar,” she whispers as she brushes blonde hair back behind Angela’s ear. She continues in Arabic, telling her how wonderful she is, how much she loves her, pressing soft kisses to the bite marks and bruises starting to show on Angela’s skin. She knows Angela doesn’t fully understand what she’s saying, but as her breathing slows she snuggles closer, letting Fareeha lavish attention on her.

After a few moments, however, Angela pulls back, her blue eyes anything but calm. “Do I get to take care of you now?”  
“And what,” Fareeha asks, eyebrow arched, “if I already know what I want?”  
“Tell me,” is all Angela says, starting to sit up until Fareeha pushes her back down. Angela bites back a sound, hands grabbing for Fareeha’s hips. “I’m serious,” she insists.  
“So am I.” Fareeha rises easily, straddling Angela’s waist, covering Angela’s hands with her own and moving them to the waistband of her gym shorts. “Take those off.”  
Angela complies, sliding the elastic easily down Fareeha’s hips, sucking in a breath as more skin is revealed. “I could get used to the commando thing,” she murmurs, and Fareeha chuckles, shifting as Angela’s hands glide lower until they manage to get that last piece of clothing off and onto the floor. “Huere schön,” Angela whispers breathlessly as Fareeha rises up over her, hands grasping the back of her thighs but - possibly remembering being pinned earlier - doing nothing more.

Fareeha keeps Angela’s gaze as she moves up the bed, straddling her shoulders before Angela’s eyes widen in recognition, fingers spasming against her skin. Fareeha’s blood roars through her ears at the look on her face, the jolt in her stomach urging her to chase that lamb and take what is hers. She grasps the headboard in a white-knuckled grip instead. “Okay?”  
“Yes.” Angela pulls on her legs now, urging her the last few inches up, pressing open mouthed kisses to the inside of her thighs as Fareeha settles above her.  
At first, Fareeha contents herself with watching through half-lidded eyes as Angela lets her hands roam more freely now, eyes occasionally flicking to Fareeha as if to confirm permission. With no objections her hands run up Fareeha’s sides, fondling her breasts and tweaking her nipples to Fareeha’s muted gasp of approval. Then they trace patterns down her back, kneading her ass, all the while her mouth moving closer and closer to Fareeha’s center before backing away again. It’s when she moves away for a third time that Fareeha loses her patience, tangling her fingers in Angela’s hair with a growled, “Enough!” She holds Angela still as she rolls her hips down and forward, forcing the contact she craves.  
And Angela’s blue eyes just laugh up at her, fingers tightening on her skin and pulling her down farther as her tongue parts Fareeha’s folds. And though Fareeha’s grip never falters, though she sets the pace, Angela’s there to meet every thrust, rewarding every slow grind of Fareeha’s hips with exuberant attention. She hums against Fareeha’s clit, sending shivers through her, a groan falling from her lips, head thrown back, hips pushed closer, Angela’s grasp on her so tight Fareeha wonders if she’ll bruise. Not that it matters. Not that it matters in the least when Angela’s tongue pushes her over the edge and she comes apart with a shudder and a cry, pleasure rocketing through every muscle.

She opens her eyes when she feels Angela’s fingers tracing circles on her back. With an effort she pushes herself up and off her lover, collapsing beside her into sheets that smell heavily of sweat and sex. She allows herself a moment to catch her breath, then rolls over onto an elbow, tracing her thumb over Angela’s lips and kissing her, tasting herself on Angela’s tongue. “Beautiful,” she tells her again as she pulls away, and Angela laughs softly.  
“Yours,” she replies, and Fareeha pulls her into an embrace, cradling her head on her shoulder. 

They stay that way for a few minutes, both of them catching their breaths, before Angela lifts her head to look around their chamber again. “What does this room mean?” she asks, eyes searching Fareeha’s.  
“Hmm?” She’s not sure she understands. “It’s just storage. A hiding place. Only jackals of the Amari clan know how to get in, though other clans have their own places. It’s just a place to clean up or change or whatever without worrying about someone finding you.”  
But Angela shakes her head, fingers tapping restlessly against Fareeha’s stomach. “So what does it mean… for me to see this place?”

_Oh._ She smiles slowly, remembering one of the things her mother had told her. “You’re right. It’s not a place humans usually get to see.”  
Something in her face must give her away, because Angela’s eyes grow wary. “Except?” she prompts when Fareeha doesn’t continue.  
“Except,” Fareeha repeats, rolling over so that Angela is beneath her again, lips finding hers. “It’s said that if you mate with a human-“ she pulls away to see a light blush across Angela’s cheeks, the doctor mouthing “mate?” back at her with raised eyebrows. She laughs, kissing Angela’s jawline and neck. “But wish to ensure your child is jackal, you should do so here.”  
Now Angela’s laughing, cupping Fareeha’s face in her hands so she can look at her. “Fareeha Amari,” she says with mock concern, blush burning brighter, “are you trying to get me pregnant?”  
When Angela shivers at Fareeha’s grin, she wonders what color her eyes are as she skims a hand across Angela’s flat stomach. “Not yet,” she says, voice a low rumble, and hears Angela’s heart start to race.

A very long night indeed.


	2. Epilogue

They’re finally back in Gibraltar after several weeks of exhausting back to back missions. Fareeha sits on the bed in the quarters that she and Angela share, hands restless but not toying with the scarf tied around her eyes. Angela had insisted that she had a present for her, a sort of “welcome back” despite the fact they’d both been on assignment, but one look at Angela’s sparkling eyes and Fareeha hadn’t been able to argue. Not even when Angela insisted on the makeshift blindfold. “You’ll peek otherwise!” she accused, and Fareeha just held up her hands in surrender.

The click of the door opening gets Fareeha’s attention, head swiveling to where she knows Angela must be. And it’s definitely Angela, the lavender of the shampoo she’d used when they finally had their shower again, the chicken she’d had at dinner, and underneath it all the same mountains she always smells of. Fareeha smiles as she hears Angela’s accelerated heartbeat. Whatever this is, she’s definitely excited about it.

“Do I get to look now?” she asks, motioning to the scarf.  
“No,” is the calm answer, Angela moving forward, dropping a kiss against her lips. Fareeha’s arms find Angela’s waist, pulling her in closer, turning her face up for another kiss. Angela chuckles, arms going around Fareeha’s neck as she complies. Honestly, it’s tempting to forget the whole gift thing as Fareeha tilts her head, deepening the kiss, smiling as Angela moans into her mouth, Angela’s fingers playing with the back of her neck-

Until something wide and hard is being pressed against the back of her neck, then wraps around her throat. The smell of leather hits her and Angela makes no move to stop her as she reaches for the blindfold, tearing it off as something clicks into place with a jangle of metal.

Angela stands in front of her with a strap of leather in her hand and the most self-satisfied smirk that Fareeha’s ever seen on her lips. She pulls on the strap and the pressure around Fareeha’s neck increases, pulling her up and off the bed.  
“Every dog should have a collar, don’t you think?” Angela purrs.

It’s going to be another sleepless night.

**Author's Note:**

> Herrgott - Lord  
> Huere schön - fucking beautiful


End file.
